Unravel Me
by Demigods-in-the-TARDIS
Summary: Chaos has always existed with Order, just as Order had always thrived in Chaos. You cannot have one without the other. As the Nine Realms face an ancient threat, an unlikely alliance must form between a bitter demigod and a scarred warrior. Structure and madness, brain and brawn, malevolence and nobility. They must come together to save the worlds.
1. Prologue

The Frost Giants came from nowhere.

The air had been crisp with the scent of oncoming rains and we could hear thunder in the distance. The darkness had already swallowed the evening, grey clouds forming an impenetrable blanket over our world.

I was nine.

I remember the night vividly; tragedy is impossible to forget, no matter how much you want to. We were all of us sitting around a campfire that we'd lit to keep ourselves warm. Most of the Berserker tribe was there. We were having a celebration for the Winter Solstice. It was an age-old tradition. Couples danced, children reenacted scenes from legends, and songs were sung. It was one of my favorite festivals. The air was cold, the snow from the previous nights already mulch beneath our boots.

We had been celebrating and the merriment had reached its peak with slurred renderings of odes and the kind of laughter only an ale-laden stomach could produce. The children were shrieking and laughing, running around the fires and trying to steal the last sweets from the stalls.

I was one of them, stifling giggles as I snuck into one of the stalls with my friends. I shushed them with a hiss that only resulted in more giggles. The owner was out, our distraction team already in place, begging him for some sweets. With what I thought was stealth, I reached up to the table and patted around the wood until my fingers met the cool ceramic bowl that held the sweets. I dipped my hand into it, only to find nothing.

Puzzled, I poked my head above the table.

The owner stared down at me, hands on hips and eyebrows drawn into an amused expression.

He held out his hand. "Looking for these?"

I gulped audibly. There were only a handful of sweets left and he had them all.

"Yes?" I squeaked.

The owner laughed. His name was Memnir. He was a good man with a kind heart and a soft spot for children. He held out his hand and gave me the sweets. I thanked him profusely and turned to my friends.

I hadn't finished handing them out when I heard a sickening crunch and something warm and damp splattered onto my neck. I turned around and Memnir stared down at me with wide eyes. I took a few steps back. He looked scary, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. His veins were taut and I shivered.

It was then that I noticed the spear sticking out of his chest.

Memnir fell forward, the expression of shock and fear etched forever on his frozen face. Behind him, glowing in the night's light, was a tall creature, blue like the icy lands it came from. It looked down at us, teeth gleaming in a feral grin, its body bulky and taut. Its eyes were a deep crimson, the colour of the blood seeping down my back.

A shrill scream pierced the night, the sound sharp and echoing in my head. _This is wrong_ , I thought. _People shouldn't be screaming. They should be rejoicing._

The scream jarred me and my friends to our senses and we ran out of the shop. The Frost Giant didn't chase after us, though I felt its eyes follow us as we shrieked and cried.

Everything was in chaos. Fires surged and blue lights flashed before my eyes. I quickly lost track of my friends. In the discord it was hard to keep track of anyone. I ran all over the place, crying for my parents. Taut legs descended to crush me and I scampered out of the way. Even my nine-year-old self could see the battle was pointless. Most of our tribe was inebriated. Both the men and women swung wildly, and were struck down without trouble. I saw so many people fall before me and still I ran. The tears trickled down my chin and I could hardly see from all the tears. My voice was the trembling tremor of a child. I was scared and confused and I just wanted my parents.

I heard a familiar shout and I spun around.

There, closest to the bonfire and attracting the most Jotuns, were my father and mother. They stood back-to-back, each defending the other. They were clearly not drunk. Their movements were fluid and precise, the trademark of the Berserkers. They fought with a fury I had never seen them employ before and I quickly understood why.

One of the characteristics of our tribe is our ability to fight. They fought like hurricanes. They tore through the Frost Giants, descending upon them like waves during a storm. My father and mother were Chiefs for this sole reason. They were the best warriors. They fought with everything they had, but the Jotuns were too many. Even the greatest warrior eventually succumbs to the weight of their own body, and so did my parents.

I watched as one of the Frost Giants sliced my father's head clean away from his body.

I watched as a spear rammed through my mother's heart.

The world seemed to stop. It slowed down so completely I thought time was broken. I could hear my own breath shuddering and ragged in my ear. I could feel my heart thundering at an impossible pace, even with the murky movements of time. I could feel the scream rising from my chest, a wordless sound that writhed with anguish. I could feel a heavy weight come crashing down on me, and if I was moving at a normal pace, I would have stumbled.

I screamed. It tore past my throat, searing the insides. A blinding fury ripped through me, depriving me of vision. Everything went black.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night. There were flashes of memory - a bright light, a rumbling in my toes like the earth itself was shaking, my hands clutching a bloodied knife, an odd pair of eyes. Then nothing.

When I woke up, it was past the afternoon three days later. The tribe had done a good job of cleaning up the place. You wouldn't have known a full-blown battle had taken place only a couple of days ago if you hadn't been there for it.

My uncle was there when I woke up. He told me most of the tribe was dead, including my parents. It was only by the grace of the AllFather that even some of us managed to survive.

He had come right before everyone got slaughtered. Odin had always been our king, but to hear my uncle talk about him then, you would have thought he was a god. They'd been alerted to the ambush and had arrived as soon as they could. Thor was with him, the heir apparent, as well as Loki. What Loki did I do not know, but Thor helped his father immensely. They drove the Frost Giants back, and those who did not go were killed.

I shuddered internally. So much blood.

There were barely more than fifty of us left. The thought made my shoulders droop. So much loss. So many innocent lives destroyed and for what? No one knew the answer to that. Everybody accepted it to be an ambush but my uncle and I differed. The Jotuns were not stupid, no matter what anybody thought. A sudden ambush was an irrational - and frankly idiotic - move. We didn't have any direct beef with them, so no one could fathom why the attack happened in the first place.

Too bad the creatures we could question had fled or were dead.

Odin had been kind enough to give us supplies to readjust to our lives. Food, clothing, metals. He even offered us a spot to relocate to, but we couldn't. This was our home. The blood of our brethren had stained the ground and we couldn't very well leave it.

Throughout the talk, my uncle had an odd look about him that I didn't pay much attention to at the time. I dismissed it as him pitying my loss. He was upset, too. My mother had been his sister and the pain wasn't easy on either of us.

When I asked him what Odin had demanded in return - for nobody does things for free - he said Odin would only ask for repayment ten years later.

I thought it was a good deal. In ten years we would have hopefully rebuilt ourselves enough to supply him whatever provisions he wanted.

Of course, nobody thought that ten years later, Odin would ask me to marry Loki.


	2. Chapter One

"This is outrageous! How dare he make such a demand?"

"What do you mean, how dare he? He is our king! We promised him anything." My aunt paused. Her face was drawn. She glanced at me before turning back to my uncle. "I like this as much as you do," she said, her voice falling in tone.

The rest of the council was silent. I had my arms crossed across my chest and was resting my elbows on the table. There were five others in the room besides me: my uncle, my aunt, and three other council members. My uncle was my tactical adviser, my aunt my adviser for other matters. The other three were Master Lher, Mistress Kira, and Master Oven, each a different post, each as important as the other.

Me? I was the Chief.

I was silent, considering the situation. I was nineteen, the youngest Chief the Berserker tribe had ever had. After my parents had died, my uncle had taken on the title temporarily, before handing it down to me on my sixteenth birthday, the day I was officially recognized as a woman.

My aunt said I'd stopped being a girl when I was nine.

The demand had come last night through one of Odin's messengers. It was late in the night, right before we'd had retire to sleep. The messenger was led to our house and he said he had important news from the king.

We'd known a demand was coming. We'd been waiting for weeks and now that it was here, it was almost relieving.

That was until he made the demand.

My aunt and I had to pry my uncle off the messenger.

"We cannot send Sigyn away on the whim of some . . . some-," my uncle stuttered.

"Hold your tongue, Hedinn," my aunt snapped. She took a deep breath before letting it out. My aunt was the most logical woman I had ever known in my life. She was careful, cautious, and very very smart. She and I both knew what decision we had to take in the end, no matter what the council decided. All this arguing was only meant to release some steam, not reach an absolute decision.

Well, at least not the sort of decision they'd like.

My aunt turned to the council. "What about you?" she asked. "What do you think on the matter?"

I knew what Oven was going to say before he even opened his mouth. Oven was one of our strongest men, and he was barely much older than I was. His dirty golden hair had been tied back hastily. Oven and I had never really seen eye-to-eye on most matters, but there was a respect between us. We weren't enemies, but you couldn't really call us friends.

"We should let her go," he said calmly.

Uncle's head snapped up. "How dare you!" he roared.

"It's alright, uncle," I said. "He's not wrong. If I don't go, then the gods know what Odin will do to us."

"Do not take their side, Sigyn," he said, his face still red.

Master Lehr cleared his throat and we fell silent. Lehr was our oldest member, a wizened old man with tufts of white hair sticking out in odd places and skin so folded it sagged. He was also the kindest man I had known and even though his age should have rendered him with poor memory or thought, he was wise.

"I'm afraid, Master Hedinn, that the younglings are right. As much as it pains my heart to see our darling Sigyn leave, the wrath of Odin will be too much to bear. We might not survive."

My uncle's face dropped. He knew that if Lehr had taken a side, there was no going back. I felt my heart grow heavy. He looked so lost and desolate that it made me forget my own fear of leaving the tribe. I didn't want to go. I hated Odin's preposition as much as my uncle did - more, perhaps, because it was upon me that this curse had been inflicted. I didn't want to leave everything I had known my entire life simply because someone had decreed it to be, but I couldn't oppose him. Even a year ago I would have. I would have challenged him, begged him, anything to keep me from going away, but I knew it was no use. I knew what he did to insubordinate people.

If I didn't adhere to his wish, then he'd destroy the tribe. He knew what he was doing. He was the one who'd been our salvation ten years ago, and this was his way of reminding us that he had the power to make us go through that trauma all over again.

I'd come to terms with the inevitability of this course of action. I'd cried in bed the night before, stifling my sobs with the pillows. I'd cried until all the sorrow and fear had welled out of me and I'd forced myself to face the facts. I couldn't cry during the council. My aunt and uncle were upset as it was, and me breaking in front of them would make them feel worse.

As I watched my uncle sink back into his seat, his face tight, I felt the sorrow rise again. I could feel my steel resolve crumble. I looked away, took a few deep breaths slowly, and steeled myself.

"Except Sigyn," my uncle said, in a dull voice,"all in favour of the proposal?"

Three hands rose into the air. My uncle deflated some more.

"All not in favour?"

Two hands: my uncle's and Mistress Kira.

My own arm itched to shoot up.

They dropped their hands, a deathly silence descending on everyone. It was done. There was really no choice now.

"Well, then," I said, my voice ringing loud and crass. "I suppose I am going to have to marry Loki."

...

Two days later, I was on my way. Odin had himself sent a carriage to take me to the palace. I said my goodbyes quickly, every lingering second threatening to break me. My heart felt like it had been weighed down with lead and I found it hard to breathe.

Everything I had known and everyone I had loved was here, in this small area. This was my life and I didn't want to let it go. I was scared. I was terrified. I didn't know what to expect when I got to the palace and my very bones protested each step away.

The entire tribe had gathered to watch me depart. My friends. My brethren.

My family.

I embraced each and every one of them. There weren't that many to go around. I held them tightly, clutching them hard, as if to say, 'Keep me here. Don't let me go.' But they did, and eventually it was over. I had to go.

I hugged my aunt and uncle again, taking in the feel of their warmth, the scent of their clothes, and the love that swept over me. I wouldn't be feeling it for a long time.

My aunt kissed my forehead and said a blessing. My uncle just looked at me, holding my shoulders, both of us trying to hold back our tears.

"Make Odin regret it," he said finally, his voice thick and trembling.

I smiled. I nodded.

Then I was gone.

I looked out the window, waving to them as the carriage moved down the mud path. I waved until they were specs in the distance and I continued waving until they were gone. I waved until my hand grew tired and my eyes stung with tears and the sorrow that I had locked down now flooded my entire being.

I pulled myself back in and pressed my face into my hands. My shoulders shook with unceasing tremors. I didn't care if the carriage driver heard me. I wailed, feeling the pain of my life being ripped apart from my being.

It took me a long while to stop.

We'd left after noon and when I looked back out it was almost sundown.

I collected myself, allowing the last of my tears to drip off my face. We'd be entering the royal city soon and I needed to look presentable.

I rubbed my face, clearing away the tear stains as best as I could. I tucked in strands of hair that flitted across my forehead. My hair was tied in a tight high ponytail. It was wavy and I preferred it in a tight bun as it wouldn't get in the way of my fighting. I'd wanted short hair, like some of the women in my tribe, but I could never bring myself to chop it all off. I kept it trimmed so it fell a few inches past my shoulders in the ponytail. I did know that the women in the main city considered it a fashion to grow out their hair, though they tended to let it loose. I didn't see how that was practical.

I took a deep breath and sighed, looking out the window. The wind would cool my cheeks, so by the time we reached the palace, I would not look like I'd been bawling my eyes out.

It took half an hour longer to reach the palace.

I'd never been to the main city, so when we first entered I was struck dumb by its size. Tall spires glinted gold, reflecting the light of the setting sun. Towers looked out over acres of gleaming buildings. Vehicles floated in the sky - guards posted to keep track of the city's order. The houses themselves were tall enough that a single one could have held my entire tribe in it without having to squeeze for space.

And there were so many people. Everywhere they flocked like cattle. The men wore finely tailored outfits: long coats with button-up shirts, trousers, and boots. The women were more diverse in their clothing. Some wore long dresses with frills. Some wore robes that looked like layers of clothing just wrapped around them. Yet others wore clothes with armour plates stitched into the fabric. All their clothes were vibrant, mostly golden or red, some green, and fewer others with other colours.

I stared at them as I passed, my mind trying to process the sheer enormity of the population and the sudden influx of a different culture. I couldn't help but feel intimidated as I sat in my button-up shirt, pants, and boots. These were the best clothes I had. What had Odin been thinking marrying Loki off to someone from a completely different background? He had plenty of beautiful women from his own city that he could have chosen. So why me?

I caught a glimpse of one of the guard women and I felt myself relax slightly. She wore pants and a long top, though the pants were made from leather and the top was woven with armour. Still, she was a warrior and so was I. I wasn't a noblewoman or even a city woman. I was a warrior. I couldn't dress any other way.

My resolve didn't last very long, shattering completely as I approached the royal palace.

As we entered, I looked up, trying not to crick my neck to see where the palace stopped. It was built like a fortress, with hundreds of spires all painted gold. I gulped. This was where I was supposed to spend the rest of my life.

The carriage rolled to a halt at the palace stairs and I felt my fear rise again. This carriage was my last safe house. Once I stepped out of it, there would be no going back.

The carriage driver opened the door and held out a hand to help me down.

I swallowed.

I looked back at the steps. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this.

"Ma'am?"

I looked back at the driver. His brows were drawn together in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, forcing the words out. I cleared my throat and took his offered hand. "Thank you." My voice sounded less strained.

I waited patiently as the man removed my luggage - two bags of clothing and weaponry - and wondered what I was supposed to do next. I couldn't very well walk into the palace myself. I had a feeling that if I was left unsupervised I'd run out of the gates.

The driver nodded to me and I smiled slightly. Just as he receded, a voice said, "Ah!"

I turned. Climbing gracefully down the stairs was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She wore robes of green and gold, and her flaming hair was tied up in an elaborate braid. She smiled. "You must be Sigyn."

I nodded as she came closer.

"I'm Frigga," she said.

My eyes widened and I fell into an immediate bow. It's the queen herself! "Your majesty."

"Come now," she said firmly, pulling me gently up. "If we're going to be family, you might as well call me by my name. And none of this bowing business."

Family. I forced myself to smile again. "You're very kind."

She smiled softly and looked at me. It was the kind of looking that went beyond appearances, as if she could see past the formality and into my very heart. She rubbed my shoulder. "I know this is hard for you," she said quietly, holding my eyes. "I'd rather you had chosen this decision yourself than being forced into it, and if I could undo it, I would. But I'm afraid once my husband's mind is made up, there is nothing I can say that can change it. What I can do is make you as comfortable as possible. If you need anything, do not be afraid to come to me. Anything." She waited until I understood that by 'anything' she didn't just mean material supplies. I could go to her with grievances, with rants, with excitement. She's always be there.

I nodded, not trusting my voice with the appropriate words.

She smiled wider. "Good," she said. Then she moved aside. "Let me introduce you to my sons." She made a sweeping gesture as two men descended the stairs.

I hadn't noticed them while I was talking to Sigyn, but after a single look at them I couldn't imagine how I'd missed them.

Both demigods were tall and commanding in their walk. The air of a mighty prince sat on their shoulders like capes and though they wore know crown, their authority could not be mistaken.

They bowed before me and I returned the gesture.

"Lady Sigyn," said one. I knew who he was instantly. Emblazoned with gold and red, Thor Odinson was the only one good thing I knew would happen in this place. His demeanor, while regal, was also welcoming. His smile was wide and true and I felt myself responding to it. He also radiated trust. He made me want to hold him and be swallowed by his bulk. He was one of the mightiest warriors I had ever heard of and my respect for him knew no bounds.

He took my hand and brushed a kiss to the back of it. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope you find your stay here comfortable." His voice was deep and reverberating and I understood quickly exactly why there were so many stories about him. "This is my brother, Loki."

My husband to be looked as enthusiastic about this arrangement as I felt. Black and green, a combination of colours I hadn't seen on anybody else, looked oddly appealing on his lanky frame. He wasn't skinny, but he wasn't muscular, either. His face was angular, with cheekbones so sharp they looked like they could draw blood if you ran a finger along them. He didn't radiate comfort so much as a disinterested tolerance. I wondered how he could possibly be related to someone as vibrant as Thor.

Still, he didn't shirk his manners. He took my hand as well and placed a kiss right over the spot that Thor had kissed, his blue-green eyes never leaving mine.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," he said, his voice smooth. "You'll be comfortable here, of course, as long as you don't get in my way."

"Loki!" Frigga snapped. Even Thor's eyebrows drew together. Loki regarded me calmly.

I knew instantly that my days here would be antagonizing because of him. If I had to marry one of Odin's sons, why couldn't it have been Thor?

"I won't," I replied, evenly. "I wouldn't want you to trip over my weapons and hurt yourself."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "I would watch my tone if I were you."

"Why? Does the idea of someone who can match you in verbal prowess threaten you that much, Silvertongue?"

I knew I was pushing my luck by speaking so brazenly with the prince of Asgard. He could have me hanged or thrown out, and then what would I do? I held my ground, looking him square in the eyes. Words once spoken could not be taken back.

Loki grinned. It wasn't a particularly nice grin, more the kind of grin that people have when they're devised a devious plan. I didn't like it at all. Then he nodded once and turned right around, going back into the palace. His coat fluttered behind him.

There was silence for a few moments, all three of us simply staring after Loki. I exhaled softly, glad I hadn't been sentenced to death. I might have exaggerated the penalties, but I wasn't familiar with the practices of the royal household. I didn't know what a standard punishment was.

"You might be better for him than I thought."

I looked at Thor, who had spoken. It took me a moment to comprehend what he has said. Even then I wasn't sure I understood him completely. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer and instead, asked another question. "How did you know to speak that way? I have never heard someone - let alone a warrior - speak so freely with Loki. Except, perhaps, our mother and father. How did you know what words to say?"

I shrugged. "My mother used to write poetry."


End file.
